Forged in the fires of hell
by Shadowfax220
Summary: A collection of oneshots... Chapter three: First Impressions now up.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Nope... The Winchesters are not mine!_

_I'm forever writing stuff that I never use because it doesn't really fit anywhere so I figgured I'd just put them here. I'll add short oneshot dribbles occasionally. Today I was in a dark mood. I wanted to write some more of my story Murder in Montana, but this is all that would come out... Sad really that something so dark should come on a day that's supposed to be so happy...  
_

**Forged in the fires of hell**

He is an adept at deception, weaving the gentle web of lies so close to the truth it's nearly impossible to tell them apart. Even his own family can't see though the charade he wears like armor. Oh, they know he's wearing it, they know it's his protection, his way of keeping the pain of his life as far away as possible, but they don't know, what it hides, not really.

They don't know about his fears, not all of them. Sure they know he's afraid of losing them, of being left all alone. But they don't know the rest of it. They couldn't possibly understand it and they couldn't change it. It's his burden, his problem and no one would ever be able to help, no one could ever save him. He was already lost. He knew, that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how diligently he fought… he was going to lose the war and his soul would be damned. Hell, his soul was probably already forfeit.

He expected to spend eternity in hell, but he figured it couldn't be much worse then where he was now. He's always said that he would march straight into hell and destroy each and every one of those evil bastards. One day, when his body was finally to broken, to be fixed, when he could no longer fight here… that's when his enemy would need to beware because when that happened. He would fulfill his promise and they would all pay for what had been done to his family, to what had been done to him.

Dean Winchester was a weapon. Carefully constructed by fate and the failings of a man far stronger then he. He was forged in the fires of hell and wielded on the planes of the earth. But one day he would take the battle to pits of the very place that made him what he was and on that day the evil that destroyed him would finally understand the mistake that it had made.

**A/N - The button's right there... click on it and tell me what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Nope... The Winchesters are not mine!_

**Despair**

He leaned heavily on the dark mahogany bar lost in the despair that beat down at him heavily. His hand wrapped around the shot glass as the bar tender filled it again. Pain beat at him as he lifted the shot and drained it in one smooth motion then indicated to the bartender to fill it again. Tears filled his eyes but he refused to allow them to fall.

Twenty four years ago he was given a task, one task, one simple job. Today he had failed at that task and in doing so he had lost everything. The physical pain beating into him was nothing, nothing at all compared to the other pain. The physical pain was nothing more then what he deserved for his failure. He snapped back another shot feeling the warm liquid burn its way down his throat. Wishing it would burn away the ache that spiked deep into his heart.

He was alone now, totally alone. Sam, his Sam, was gone and it was his fault. He was not strong enough to stop it. He had failed. Failed his mother, failed his brothers fiancé Jessica, failed his father and now… now he had failed Sammy too. His shot glass was filled again and drained just as fast. His phone rang. He ignored it.

Hours passed and still he sat at the bar. Trying and failing to drown his anguish. Trying to bury the pain in his body and his heart. Trying to loose himself completely in the bottle that now sat in front of him. His head hung low his thoughts scattered and painful as sorrow washed over him time and again.

He felt a hand lay gently on his shoulder and sighed. He turned his head his eyes rolling slightly at the sudden motion before he focused them on the figure at his side. He blinked once, twice, his eyes opening wide in disbelief. "Dad," he whispered. He closed his eyes and opened them again expecting his father to be gone, a figment of his imagination but he wasn't. "I… I couldn't do it Dad… I'm sorry."

"I know son," his father said with a sad smile. "But it's not too late you can still do it."

"No I… I can't," Dean said as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "I can't do it Dad." He swallowed rubbing his palm across his face.

"Dean," his father said earnestly as his form began to waver. "You can still save him."

Shock registered on Dean's face at his fathers words, "Save him? How? He went willingly Dad. I watched him turn right before my eyes! He's not possessed Dad. Holy water has no effect on him."

"He did it to save you son," his father replied as he flickered again.

"He shouldn't have," Dean said fiercely. "You shouldn't have! I'm not worth it."

John Winchester reached out and touched his sons face. "Of course you are," he said with a smile. "But, Dean, you can still save him. You saved me. There is a way, don't give up on him Dean. He still needs you." With those final words John's form faded.

"Dad," he whispered as his father disappeared. He stood on wobbly feet, paid the bartender and staggered slowly out of the bar. No one noticed the trail of blood that followed him as he made his way through the small crowd and out into the parking lot. No one noticed him as he got into his black car and pulled away. And no one knew of the small seed of hope that had been planted deep within his heart.

**A/N - The button's right there... click on it and tell me what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Nope... The Winchesters are not mine!_

**First Impressions**

She sat on the large rock watching the blood drip down. It was fascinating at first to see how quickly it spilled, spreading across the boulder until it was running freely over the side soaking into the dirt below. A light heady feeling washed over her as she watched until she slumped down across the stone, arms and legs splayed wide. Each drop of blood that fell took with it a tiny bit of her despair, a tiny bit of her loneliness. With each drop blood that fell her joy increased. Soon she wouldn't be lonely anymore. Soon she would be gone.

She looked up expecting to see the stars burning bright in the night sky but instead she saw him. He was staring down at her, watching her intently, as though waiting for her to do something. She smiled sadly at him as he stood there tall and handsome. His forehead wrinkled slightly a look of concern in his hazel eyes as his shaggy hair danced in the cold wind that suddenly whipped up.

He too was hurting, she could feel his anguish. He could not hide it from her though he hid it from the world. She knew he suffered as she suffered. Loss and loneliness were not strangers to him. She poured out her despair to him in a single look, making him see how much she hurt. How she understood his anguish, too.

His expressive eyes showed his understanding as he sank to the ground beside her. The short barreled shotgun clutched in his hand forgotten as he was struck numb from the emotions being poured into him.

She reached up brushing a lock of hair away from his handsome face. "No, please," he begged, his words expelled in a frosty gasp in the suddenly frigid air.

"It will make your pain go away," she told him reaching for his wrist determined to help him conquer his sorrow the only way she knew how.

He backed away from her hurriedly until his back was against a tree on the other side of the trail. "I don't want you to help me," he told her. "I want to help you."

"No one can help me," she said sadly standing, gliding towards him.

"I can," he told her. "I'm Sam. What's your name? Tell me who you are so I can help you."

She shook her head gazing at him in wonder. No one ever wanted to know about her. No one had ever cared about her. She stared at him not even noticing the heavy footsteps as someone else ran up the trail towards them, not until he stopped several yards away and aimed his shotgun in her direction.

The shaggy haired man, Sam, rose from the ground swiftly, putting his hand out towards the other. "Dean wait," he said. "Don't."

The other man did not reply, did not lower his gun, but he didn't shoot either.

"We can help you," Sam told her. "But we need to know your name."

Then she felt it. Something she'd never felt before, never known in all the long decades of her torment. She felt it his concern, his caring for her and she was amazed. Her first impression of him had been wrong. He was lonely and in pain to be sure, but there was also love and determination buried deeply within him. How had she missed those feelings before?

She took a step towards him heard an ominous click from the other man. Dean, Sam had called him. She turned to him staring at him and the now cocked and ready gun. "Sam," he said his voice filled with concern as he made the single word a question.

"No Dean," Sam replied. She turned her attention to Sam again as he asked, "I promise we will help, but to do that we need to know your name."

She closed her eyes as she felt the emotions running through him. She flickered, smiling at him. Smiling for the first time in many long years. "You already have," she told him.

The brother's watched her form slowly fade away. Just before she was gone, when there was only the barest part of her still with them her voice whispered over the wind, "My name is Sandy Allison."

Dean lowered the gun and looked at Sam. "Did you get it?"

"Sandy Allison," he said. "But I'm not sure we need it anymore. I think it's over."

"Doesn't matter," Dean said shaking his head. "We find out where she's buried, salt and burn the bones just in case."

Without a word Sam nodded and together the hunters walked back down the quiet river trail, the cliffs on one side, the river on the other. This job wasn't over yet, they still had one last chore to accomplish before they could move on to their next hunt. But Sam knew she was already gone. He knew she wouldn't be back. He'd given her the only thing she wanted… for someone to care about her.

**A/N - Not exactly a drabble, but not really a story either... Review please and let me know what you think.**


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